Prisonic Fairytale Part Two: Butterflies
by amaratenou2002
Summary: Named after an SH2 song. This is my own interpretation of what happened to Angela Orosco before she went to Silent Hill.
1. Chapter 1

Why do you hide in your closet and cry?

Why do you sit here and wish to die?

Is it because your mom doesn't care?

She doesn't notice that you're there.

Is it because your dad always drinks?

_HE_'s always puking in the sink.

Is it because they always yell?

It makes your home feel like hell.

Is because when you tried to leave

_HE_ brought you back with anger that seethed?

Is it because of the scars on your wrist?

Is this becoming a long enough list?

Is it because _HE_ got mad when _HE_ saw?

You scratch at your arm until it is raw.

Is it because _HE_ likes how you look?

_HE_ grabs your waist, his arm like a hook

Is it because you can't make it stop?

You get real scared when _HE_ climbs on top

Is it because you feel real bad?

Mom blames you instead "dad"

Is it because your mom left home?

She went away and now you're alone

Is it because _HE_'s just been killed?

You're set free and now you're thrilled.

The only way to share with your mom

The newfound feelings of peace and calm

Is to find out where she has gone

Something easier said than done

You went on a search and remain there still

Now you're lost in Silent Hill.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: As you read on you will learn who "HE" is and the only reason "HE" is capitalized is because does not always register italics for my story. Also, if you listen in the first part of the game (the graveyard scene), Angela DOES say she has a brother so I didn't make that up though he is never mentioned again. This is only MY interpretation. I don't own anything of course.

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During the nights whenever my mama had gone and _HE_ was too drunk to think straight, I took over the role of the wife. I cleaned _HIM,_ fed _HIM_, and helped _HIM_ get to the bathroom when he needed to throw up and _HIS_ bed when _HE_ was tired. _HE_ was like a child. Adults are supposed to be responsible caregivers but this one was a baby with a diseased mind. It first happened in this way: _HE_ stumbled in the house reeking of a smell unrecognizable to my nose (though that would soon change). Sweat bled through his shirt making me wonder if he'd walked. Under _HIS_ breath _HE_ shot a command at me that wasn't understandable. Naturally when I made no attempt to get up _HE_ became enraged. "Get up and help me," _HE _repeated harshly (it sounded me like "G't uh an' heeelp me"). So I did as I was told and led _HIM_ to _HIS_ room. There _HE _collapsedon _HIS_ bed. For a moment I thought _HE'D_ died. Then _HE _spoke again. "Come here, Angela." ("C'm hheree, Annjulah"). The way _HE_ said my name still frightens me to this day. Being a frightened child, I obeyed with no questions asked. _HE_ grabbed a hold of my wrist tightly to pull me onto the bed. I remember being confused as _HIS_ hand moved up my dress. Up until _HE_ fell asleep, _HIS_ fingers stroked against the outside of my underwear. Even after _HE _was out I was paralyzed. My older brother, David, had no idea at the time. I was seven.

Episodes similar to this occurred regularly at predictable times. I felt helpless and unsure of what to do. David didn't care. In fact anytime that man came home drunk, David hid. I had to deal with it all myself. Whatever _HE_ asked for, I retrieved. Whatever _HE _requested, I obliged to. There was no other choice for me. Every night mama was gone her place was taken by me in their room, in their room, in their bed. She didn't know. The procedure remained the same until after the arrival eighth birthday. By then it had advanced: first to more touching then to kissing and then…

The biggest problem of all was not knowing or having anyone to ask. Maybe the teachers knew but they pretended not to. Just like mama did for years. The first time I felt the searing pain of _HIM_ inside of me, mama found me hiding out in the bathroom. I was bleeding and unsure of how to make it stop. Mama panicked immediately. She put me in the bathtub and turned on the water as she cried. No tears ran from my own eyes. I found myself feeling empty like an abyss had grown inside of me. Maybe _HE'D_ put it there. The water eased my pain. After mama pulled me out, she put me to bed. She was still crying at this point but had calmed down considerably. I remember her leaving just as I was falling asleep.

After that incident, mama started changing. She very gradually became meaner- at least toward me. It was bad enough David picked on me all the time. At first it was only little things like forgetting to make me lunch for school. Once in a while David would show me some pity and share a bit of his lunch with me. But that didn't happen very often. Then mama would deliberately ignore me each time I spoke to her. For a long time I didn't understand why. It made me feel bad, anyway, to be treated in such a way by her. It was even harder whenever I wanted to ask her about what _HE_ had done. Inside I was still feeling empty. It became difficult to concentrate at school. My thoughts were always somewhere else though I never actually thought about anything.

"David, do you know why mama's mad at me?" I asked him one day.

"Because you're annoying," he said. "I heard her talking to dad and she's thinking about giving you away."

"Nah-uh!"

"Ya-ha! Go ask dad!" The only reason he'd said that was because he knew I would be too scared to do it. I knew he was lying but I was still hurt. My heart wrenched as though someone had just yanked it. For a minute I _WAS_ going to ask _HIM_. I even played it through my mind: "Daddy, are you and mama really gonna give me away? That's what David said. He's being mean." Then _HE_ would pick me up and say, "Of course not, honey. We love you." But this was completely unrealistic. _HE_ would either A: ignore me, B: yell at me, or C: be too drunk to understand me. So instead I went off to my room.

The next tome mama left, she was gone for nearly two weeks and had left only four days after returning from the last time. From my bedroom window I watched her leave. "Good, go," I mumbled to myself. She left obediently like she'd heard me. A few minutes later _HE_ decided to leave as well.

Downstairs David had already begun taking advantage of being left home alone. He was ten at the time (his eleventh birthday just around the corner) but he had already been smoking for two months. A common thing for families like us labeled as "trash" by the town. I didn't have to see him doing it to know. The smoke bled my eyes dry of tears as I reached the bottom of the steps. Cigarette smoke always bothered me. While he pretended he was "man of the house", I began cleaning. I foolishly thought if I cleaned up the house I'd be safe from whatever _HE_ had planned for me. My hands were wrinkly by the time the dishes were finished. Dishes were the part I hated the most. Touching other people's gross, soggy food made me sick. I did everything I could- even dragged out the vacuum, which was really heavy. The only thing that didn't get done was the laundry.

"We don't get allowance, you know," David said when he noticed. There was more pity than malice in his voice. But I pretended not to hear him. He went upstairs with me following. At the end of the hall was mama's room. Normally we are not allowed in there but I've already been in it many times and David sneaks in whenever they're not home. I never really looked around the room before (considering the circumstances under which I was there) to figure out why. It was an ordinary room with bland carpet and dirty white walls. Maybe the walls weren't actually white at all. The bed was centered between two curtain-covered windows. Under those windows were nightstands with a single drawer in it. An empty dresser hid in the shadows on the left side and a closet on the right. Other than that the room was vacant. With no much in it, it was hard to understand why we weren't allowed in there.

"We're not supposed to be in here," I whispered as if someone had been there to hear.

"Then go on They're gone anyway." He pulled a drawer out from the nightstand on the left. I knew that was mama's side because that's the side I always had to lay on. Very few items hid in that drawer: a few barrettes, a scrunchie, old jewelry, and a comb. Nothing David was interested in. "Here, come clean this up." He rolled over to the other side while I did as I was told. The upside down picture frame caught my attention first. It was mama with _HIM_, both looking young and happy. Mama's brown hair was to her shoulders. Its waviness caught a hint of the sun. She was smiling and could probably have been a model with her flawless skin and beautiful features. It'd been a long time since I'd seen her so happy or beautiful. _HE LOOKED_ like a nice young man, ready to do anything it took to properly care for his family. Too bad it's just a picture. Pictures carry false hopes. Even sadder, everyone said David was the "spitting image" of _HIM_. Unable to look at it anymore, I turned it over.

"What are you looking for?" I asked my brother. He'd been going through the drawer of the nightstand while I'd been lost in thought.

"None of your business. Go find something to clean and go away."

"There's nothing left to clean. I think I finished it all." He didn't say anything more so I sat on the end of the bed and watched him. His hands sifted through the contents of the drawer greedily. Finally he plucked something out- a fresh pack of cigarettes along with a lighter. "David, you really shouldn't-" The front door downstairs slammed shut. The two of us knew what that meant. _HE_ was coming. David quickly hid in the closet. I shoved the drawer back in its place and was about to escape when I ran right into _HIM_.

_HE_ looked down at me with cold eyes. My legs wouldn't move. It seemed my body had decided to go against my mind. The only thing I could do was put my hands over my head. _HE_ just stared for an eternity. Since I wasn't looking at _HIS _eyes, I had no idea what he'd been thinking. Then a hand touched my head. "Angela," he said ('Anjulah'), "you're such a beautiful girl." Up in _HIS_ arms _HE_ took me and carried me to the dreaded spot only a few feet behind us.

The last thing I remember feeling- physically feeling- was the bottom of my skirt sliding up my belly button. After that I floated away. For a second I thought I had become a ghost, thinking maybe _HE'D_ suffocated me. I saw myself lying there helplessly but still breathing. What _HE_ was doing was hurting me- I could _SEE_ that. But no physical pain could be felt. The abyss had consumed everything inside me. All my tears and emotions had fallen prey to the never-ending pit created by that man. That little girl under _HIM _was no longer me. There was no me. I no longer exist.

Until he had poked his head out for a brief moment, I had forgotten David was hiding in the closet. The look on his face bore confusion and fear. Quietly he shut the door again so I slipped through the cracks to see him. He crouched down behind some dresses that hung low enough to conceal him. His hands were over his head. What kind of thoughts was going through his head then? What had he been afraid of? I wanted so badly to tell him to sneak out but my mouth wouldn't open. The abyss had taken my voice and sewn my mouth shut. Before I could do anything more, something dragged me back to my shell.

I sat up choking. _HE_ lay next to me either sleeping or passed out. At any rate I was able to make it to the bathroom. This glob of a disgusting unknown substance came out of my mouth. I wanted to throw up. What was it? _HE_ must have made me eat something while I was "gone". It was out now though so it didn't really matter. Even if I had figured it out, what good would that possibly do me?

As soon as I opened the bathroom door I let out a surprised shriek. David stood right in front of the doorway. His eyes were vacant and dark. The abyss had slowly begun consuming him as well. "Are you hurt?" he finally asked. His voice had come out surprisingly soft. It kind of scared me. Even on the days he was nice to me he never sounded this way. I only shook my head to answer him. My voice was still a prisoner of the abyss. How long would it be trapped there? The concerned expression on David's face suddenly disappeared. He struck my face so fast that if I had not fallen to the floor I wouldn't have known he'd hit me (my ability to feel that type of physical pain had not yet returned either).

"Why did you let him do that to you? How could you just sit there? You should've run! You had a chance to get away! Why didn't you take it?"

'_Why didn't you help me?' _I shouted back in my head. '_Why didn't _you_ try to stop him?'_ It didn't matter whether I'd stayed or left. If _HE _had done something to David I would've been in trouble for that.

"You're so stupid. No wonder mom hates you." Then he turned around and left. Mama didn't start saying similar things until a few years later.

I remember dragging myself out of that horrible room. It was difficult because my whole body felt like play-dough. I was starting to my room when a voice startled me. "Angela." I turned around and mama was there. She had emerged from the darkness. Her presence didn't feel the same. I didn't feel safe standing there with her. "You've been so much trouble, acting out at school and at home. What am I supposed to do with you?" At school, not long after the abyss stole my voice, the teachers had completely given up on me. They labeled me a bad kid and did what they could to get me out of there. Mama heard about this at the only conference she'd ever attended. How could I explain to them what had happened? Inside I knew they wouldn't believe me anyway. They had mama convinced I was "trouble".

I was "trouble" when I wore dresses. _HE_ liked it when I wore dresses. It made it easier for _HIM_ to get at me so I stopped. I started wearing pants instead. While that idea did help a little, it just delayed the inevitable. It was "trouble" when the newly labeled "troublemaker" didn't clean the house. Because I always had it done in the past, _HE_ started expecting everything to be perfect when _HE _came home. There were consequences to face if this task wasn't accomplished. The first time I disobeyed I had decided to try to find a way to hide from _HIM_. In my small closet, I had made a hiding spot under a low shelf using clothes that had fallen from their hangers. A book (of fairy tales) and a flashlight waited there too in case I had to be there a while. I had been so busy preparing my hiding place I hadn't cleaned the house at all. When _HE _yelled at me in that slurred voice tears sprang to my eyes.

"Angela," _HE_ repeated just as loud ('Anjulah'). "Get down here now!" David's room door shut and locked quietly. Mama had left earlier after yelling at us. No one was going to help me. "You've been lazy. Look at this mess." When I didn't say anything, _HE_ grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back. _HIS_ cheek was against the side of my head. _HIS_ sweat was now on my skin. It made me feel disgusting. "Look at that fucking mess!" Since I cleaned the house almost everyday, it hadn't actually been very messy. Only a few things were on the floor. _HE_ spun me around. _HIS_ face was still close to mine. "I work all day to take care of you and you can't clean the fucking house? It's a simple fucking task, you lazy shit!"

"I'm sorry," I finally breathed out in a quiet voice. It had returned from the abyss but t hurt to speak.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." It was escaping again.

"Not sorry enough." _He_ hoisted me over _HIS_ shoulder. The sudden jolt made me yelp. From my position, I watched the floor go by underneath us. I was going to die I just knew it. We went into the kitchen where _HE_ dropped me. My body hit the floor hard and the way I was dropped caused my elbow to smack against the floor, which made my arm tingle. _HE _stood above me, staring down at me with _HIS_ furious gaze. '_You're going to die. No one will even notice when you're gone_,' a voice in my head shouted. The next hit was to my face. I felt my brain hit the surrounding bones so hard I thought it'd make a hole in my head. One after the other the blows continued until tears started falling. This satisfied _HIM_ greatly. "Next time maybe you'll do what you're told." Finally _HE_ left me alone.

Blood dripped from my mouth and everything ached. Upstairs a door slammed. _HE _was finally going to bed. I tried to say something- call for someone- but nothing came out. _HE'D_ taken it again and put it back in the pit. It seemed my voice only came when _HE_ wanted me to speak. Would I ever be able to talk normally again? I had other things to worry about at that moment. I wanted to get out of the kitchen. Slowly I managed to drag myself to the living room. My body now pulsated with pain in tune with my heart. David came downstairs once. But he simply stepped over me and continued on his way.

In the morning David awakened me. He'd delivered a kick to the ribs hard enough to get the pain going again. "Get up, stupid. Dad wants you to clean up your mess off the floor before you go to school," he told me. '_Dear God,_' I thought, '_How can he call that evil man dad?_' My head bobbed up and down to indicate I would do as told. David left without me. Smeared on the floor in the kitchen was a spot of dried blood. I grabbed a sponge from the sink and scrubbed away. By the time it disappeared I was already late for school.

The teacher just sighed at the sight of me, "Take a seat, Angela." Everyone sneered as I walked by. Their thoughts made no difference. The abyss was still growing.

During recess I hid in the field behind a tree. Usually no one noticed me except for the occasional joke or shove. But that day David happened to be playing nearby with his friends. His friends always made their own comments and told David how much they pitied him for being related to me. On bad days they would physically attack me. It was great fun for them to cause me pain- David included. But on that particular day one of the boys came by me. His face twisted into this disgusted expression. "Don't you ever take a bath?" he asked. "Didn't you wear those clothes yesterday?"

It was true. I had been wearing the same clothes for a couple of days. I had been too exhausted to change before taking off to school. It'd been early a month since I took a proper bath. None of the others even stopped to take a glance at me. That one little comment made me hang my head in shame. David's friend had given me something else to worry about for the rest of the day.

A few times when I became desperate clothes (mama wasn't there to wash them, _HE_ certainly wasn't going to do it and neither I nor David knew how to wash clothes) I would take David's. All the dresses were in the garbage. There was no way I would put those on again. David got angry about it. In front of his friends he would make a scene over it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he'd yell. "I don't want _YOU_ in my clothes!" He said 'you' as though he were addressing an insect. Sometimes he didn't say anything at all, but he would always strike me for it. Once he ratted me out to _HIM_ and _HE_ made sure I paid for it. Mama merely shook her head when she heard about it.

"Angela, what am I going to do with you?" she said. "You need to learn, girl. All of this has to stop. You don't even answer when someone talks to you. And this acting out…" That's what she called it: 'acting out'. Apparently every time _HE _was touching me _I _was 'acting out'Every time _HE _was making me do disgusting things to _HIM_, _I _was 'acting out'. Every time the abyss received more power, _I _was 'acting out' Mama's approval really mattered in my book. I wanted to be worthy of her love. I did everything I could to gain her approval but there was always something wrong with the tasks I completed. Didn't anyone care? Could I not make anyone happy?


	3. Chapter 3

By my twelfth birthday, I knew how to take care of all the household chores: meals, laundry, cleaning- everything. Mama never had to do any of the work. I thought she'd be happy to relax. Instead she became very angry. Sometimes dinner would be ready by the time we came home from school. _HE_ complained though because it was too cold. "Can't even make a fucking meal right," _HE_ mumbled. A look of extreme hurt crossed her face for a brief second. Then she turned to me and glared.

Mama had been very mean to me at the last few months before my birthday. She'd been ignoring me and tearing me down. I was no longer her daughter. In her eyes I was her worst enemy. For my birthday, she threatened to give me nothing. "Haven't you taken enough?" she spat. In the end she gave me five dollars in a card apparently from both her and David. _HE_ however presented something much different. The white rectangular box stirred up a great mixture of emotions. Excitement and fear clouded my mind. Everyone in the room had their eyes on it. Mama didn't look very happy. Her eyes were narrowed in a cold-stare focused on the box as if she were warding off some evil.

Under the lid and the tissue paper lay a white dress. "Go try it on," _HE_ said in a gentle, unrecognizable voice. I took the box and headed upstairs. It slipped over my head easily. I had worn baggy clothes for so long I'd forgotten how small my body actually was. In the back of the dress, laces went up my spine. The front dipped down into a bow an inch below my collarbone. It was sleeveless, the skirt went down to my knees, and the whole thing clung to my skin. I had to present it to the people downstairs, feeling self-conscious and exposed.

"Thank your father," mama said. My voice still hadn't returned. When I didn't say anything she became angry. "You're so ungrateful. We shouldn't even bother."

_'Can I change back now?'_ my mind screamed out. No one could hear me of course. No one could ever hear me- even when I _could _speak.

_HE_ finally looked in my eyes and enunciated every word he as he said, "Don't get it dirty." I could only nod in return. Obviously the consequences for disobeying that order were unimaginable.

Our family has never had a lot of money. Whatever money my parents had usually went towards _HIS_ alcohol consumption. So when mama told me to wear my new dress for school pictures I didn't understand why. We never bought them so why did it matter? "This is the one day of the year you should at least _TRY_ to look decent," she growled as she roughly rubbed my face with a wet washcloth. She tried to run a comb through my matted hair but that didn't work out very well. "Just try to fix yourself up on the way. I can't believe how dirty you are! Don't you ever get tired of being a disgusting pig?"

David pushed me out the door as I walked by. "We have to get going," he said. Anyone who didn't already know him could have easily mistaken David for an adult. David stood up to _HIS_ shoulders now and _HE_ was near six feet tall. No doubt it wouldn't surprise anybody to know David was in football.

It had rained the previous night so the ground was still wet. The grass glistened in the sunlight. Puddles had formed in the few scattered potholes on the road. "Don't fall in!" David called. He'd gotten ahead o me because I had been straggling behind. "Hurry up! We're going to be late if you don't get moving!" I knew he cared for some hidden reason, one that would end in my humiliation. He waited until I caught up then walked behind me. For the past few years, ever since viewing one of those _INCIDENTS_ from the closet, David started in his own routine with me. If he wasn't hurting me himself, he was getting me in trouble so someone else would. Once in a while his friends would join in too. So getting this new white dress only added to the list of worries. If the dress got dirty _HE_ would surely beat me instead of David. Only on certain occasions would _HE_ ever hit David. Those were the few times my brother wouldn't be able to pass the blame unto me. David could be compared to Hermes- a messenger for Zeus.

The two of us were just about to reach the school when relief began setting in. Almost there and no incident had occurred. Predictably, this thought came too soon. David gave my shoulder a shove hard enough to cause me to trip and fall in one of the mud-filled potholes. He laughed as he ran the rest of the way. Had the dress only gotten wet it wouldn't have been so bad. Dark brown spots formed all over after it dried. In the bathroom I was able to clean the splattered dirt off my face. 'I'm going to be in so much trouble!' I screamed in my head. The abyss allowed me to feel the heavy burden of fear. Tears never came, however.

Pictures started immediately with first grade. For the first couple of hours I prayed they wouldn't get to my grade until the next day but I knew that was unlikely (our school wasn't very big) and dropped the prayer immediately. Praying seemed worthless anyway. It never helped me against _HIM_. Later in the day, sometime after lunch, the sixth grade obeyed the order barked over the intercom by heading to the gym. Throughout the day my fellow classmates snickered and made their comments. It didn't bother me as much as the thought of what _HE _was going to do to me. I was able to get near the front (this way I'd be away from the crowd fast) but one of the "popular" girls shoved her way through saying, "Trash in back."

The woman standing behind the camera smiled sweetly at me. "Turn just a little bit please," she said (not unkindly). "Thank you." Just hearing her voice made me wish mama could be more like her. If this woman was the definition of happy then mama clearly wasn't happy, I don't think anyone in our family was- not even _HIM_. "Okay show me that pretty smile of yours." '_Pretty?_' I thought. Nobody but _HIM_ ever said I was pretty. "Don't worry, dear," she continued, "you'll only be able to see your shoulders in the picture. Let me see your smile. Oh how nice!"

David laugher as soon as he saw me after school, "You're going to be in so much trouble." Mama's normal glare got even colder when I walked in the door.

"What the hell happened to your dress?" she asked but not really because she cared. She yanked on the strap of my dress, nearly ripping it apart. Using a washcloth she tried to clean it up. "I can't believe you. You're so dirty all the time! Aren't you ashamed of yourself at all?" She didn't expect any kind of answer and I didn't have the voice to give her one. I started to my room not even stopping when she called, "I expect you to show that mess to your father!"

I wanted so badly to rid myself of that dress but I knew the consequences would be worse if I did so- _HIS_ gift all dirty, thrown on the floor like garbage. Clearly this wouldn't make _HIM_ happy. _HE_ wouldn't be home for another hour, giving me time to contemplate my punishment. It's hard to decide which is worse- the actual thin or the contemplation. At any rate, to try to clear my mind of it I crawled into my hiding spot n the closet. All the "survival" objects were still there (with the addition of juice boxes and a pack of crackers) scarcely used. In earlier years I hadn't gotten the opportunity to escape _HIM_. But now I was getting better and learning the patterns _HE_ went through when intoxicated. Since _HIS_ mind was so clouded _HE_ could never remember what happened the next morning.

The flashlight illuminated the protective blanket perfectly. A bookmark held the spot of a favorite story chosen long ago. Cinderella always gave me a boost of hope but for what? Fairy God Mothers aren't real. No one really gave a damn about what happened to you. Real families could be just as evil as stepfamilies. And there was no such thing as a happy ending. Thinking of all this brought to mind a good question: Why would someone fabricate such stories for children just to bring their hopes crashing down later on in life? Where was the story about the girl who's used for her (so-called) "daddy's" sick enjoyment when he's drunk? Why wasn't that story in the book? Maybe that story didn't have an ending pleasant enough for people to read. What did that mean for me?

The front door slammed and my name was called. I quickly retreated from my hiding place to the hallway so it would not be discovered. David passed me on the stairs. _HE_ waited in the kitchen, preparing his afternoon drink. "Come here," _HE_ said without turning around. The abyss (put there to betray and humiliate me) allowed me to feel fear. My jaw began to tremble. Very slowly _HE_ continued _HIS_ ritual of preparing _HIS_ anticipated endless glass of alcohol. The whole time _HIS_ eyes avoided mine. This was _HIS_ way of torturing me. For only a few moments I would be forced to try to conjure up an idea of what_ HE_ had planned for me. But by not looking at me I was unable to see what _HE_ had on _HIS_ mind. "Do you want to explain to me how you got your dress so dirty?"

My lips moved but no sound came out. _HE_ liked to do this to me._ HE_ had control of when I could talk through the abyss. "I'm not talking to myself," _HE_ grumbled. Then _HE_ turned to look at me. I shifted uncomfortably where I was standing. Before speaking again _HE_ took a swig of _HIS_ drink. "Do you enjoy making your mother and I angry?" (It surprised me _HE_ had actually included mama in this) Another swig. "That's a nice birthday present you got on there- one you don't deserve- and you ruined it. What happened? What are those spots?"

My voice came out in stuttered fear, "I- it's mud ffrrom when Dave- David ppushedd me."

"David pushed you?" I nodded. "DAVID! Get your ass down here!" As David came into the kitchen, _HE_ finished off his drink. "Did you push Angela?"

"No," David answered without hesitation. "She tripped and fell. You know how bad the roads are. When you're careless its easy to trip. I tried to catch her arm but I didn't grab her in time." Time to refill while I silently cursed my brother for once again betraying me. Although had I not been the one on trial, I probably would have believed his smooth delivery too.

"You lied to me." I shook my head. "Tryin' to blame your brother for something _YOU_ did. You little shit! You're going to wash that! Take it off!" David began walking out and _HE_ said, "Go get your mother and come back here." The two of us were left in the room for a brief moment. I could hear myself breathing. Mama and David soon joined us. "Angela is going to hand-wash that dress by herself," _HE_ said as though making some important family announcement. "Now, take it off. Where are you going? Did I say you could leave?"

I shook my head. Everyone watched me as I slowly stripped the dirty dress off. I felt so humiliated standing in my recently acquired training bra and underwear. A bucket, kicked by _HIS_ foot, slid toward me. "Use that and the hose and wash that up. Then you can figure out a way to dry it off." I knew not to question _HIS_ orders so I gathered it all up before heading out the back door. No doubt the neighbors saw me crouched in the grass, trying to wash the dress in a bucket. The water became muddy fast but the stains hadn't yet come out. The wind, which hadn't been going at all before, teased me by brushing against my skin. It got cold fast.

Mama said to hang it up outside, "I don't want water dripped all over the house." We didn't have a clothesline. Besides the door to the basement was right next to the back door. The dress could go in the dryer. But she wouldn't stand for arguing. The only spot to put it happened to be a tree branch barely low enough for my reach. So I threw the dress up there and hurried to my room to get some clothes on.

At night I learned why exactly mama was so afraid of _HIM._ Maybe I was just stupid but I hadn't really thought about it before. I can't remember exactly why I'd gotten up in the first place. But I headed straight downstairs in a sleepy daze thinking, '_What's going on now_?' _HIS _yelling stopped me at the bottom of the steps. Apparently when mama tried to sneak out, she tried to take a noticeable amount of money with her. This angered _HIM_. I peered around the corner to take a glance at the scene. _HE_ had mama nearly sitting on the table. She had her head lowered in shame. As _HE_ began cursing at her she started sidestepping toward the living room. For a brief second her gaze shifted toward me. Pain flashed in her eyes before she looked back at _HIM_. They were moving into the living room (mama walked backwards with her arms ready to block anything about to be thrown at her). Then _HE_ lashed out, striking her face. Her yelp only encouraged _HIM_. From there the beating commenced. It surprised me David didn't wake up. If I had been able to feel anything, I would've cried. The sound it made was like a hammer hitting a chunk of meat. Could mama break that easily? Out of fear I fled to my room.

Within a week of witnessing that mama was gone again. Whether she'd taken any money with her wasn't obvious. _HE_ never complained but maybe _HE_ never noticed. David decided not to come home after school. It didn't really matter. At home he'd lock himself in his room anyway. The lock on my own door was broken so I didn't have that comfort. Every night after school I stayed in my closet. It worked. For a while I was safe. Fairy tales (as fake as they are) kept me company. They created a temporary fantasyland to get lost in. Saturday night _HE_ surprised us by staying home instead of going out to get drunk. This sparked a false hope that _HE_ would leave us alone. Of course we were foolish to think so. _HE_ yelled at David for skipping school (which he'd done for a year by then but _HE_ didn't notice until earlier that week) and me for not getting the dishes done fast enough. David managed to sneak out a little later and I escaped to my room.

The house remained quiet and David still hadn't returned. When the stars came out, someone rapped their knuckles on the door. Despite receiving no response it opened anyway, revealing _HIS_ face. '_What does_ HE _want?'_ I asked myself. _HE_ came in and shut the door behind _HIM_. I didn't know why, David and mama were gone. "Come here," _HE_ said. _HE_ must have been about seven feet away from me but I obeyed. What other option was there? With the palm of _HIS_ hand _HE_ pushed me down to my knees. What _HE_ wanted became obvious with the sound of _HIS_ zipper. The taste of bile hit my tongue. _HE_ still had a hold of my hair. When _HE_ noticed my reluctance, _HE_ threatened to pry my mouth open. I did what I had to do.

If there was an award for the ability to control exactly when you threw up I ought to win. _HE_ told me not to even think about spitting on the floor. It scared me to wonder what _HE_ might do if I threw up. So I held it back. That disgusting slimy substance sat in my mouth until _HE_ left and I had the chance to race to the bathroom. Even when I was sick I've never been happier to get it all out. Afterwards I washed my face with cold water then brushed my teeth. The reflection in the mirror, I noticed, was wrong. The girl in the mirror had blank confusion glowing in her eyes. The question '_Why?_' had been scrawled on her face. But I knew why. I was in hell getting what I deserved for all the things I'd done wrong. All the anger inside of me exploded for the first time. The glass smashed beneath my fist. Pain flared and liquid rose. The painted shards clattered in the sink. I stood there fascinated with the tear in my skin. Dark drops blotted onto the sink. The abyss was falling from the wound. Not only the abyss but also those feelings of shame _HE'D_ put in me were replaced with comfort.

In the cupboard under the sink I found a roll of bandages. When the flow stopped I covered it. Now I had a way to get out all the bad things inside. And it was so easy and reliable, something to be trusted. Of course I couldn't share this new secret with anyone. If they knew they'd try to stop me. Maybe I _DID_ deserve it all but I could still try to cleanse myself. That would involve getting rid of the abyss. Hiding it was easier than I thought it would be. Mama never said anything to me unless she wanted to lecture me for not doing something right. David didn't care. _HE_ was too drunk to notice the scars. Whenever I ran out of bandages though I had to steal some money to get more. No one cared what I bought and I received my punishment for stealing (a couple hits to the face). Of course that was at home.

In school the biggest problem turned out to be gym class. Everyone hated gym (well, except for the sports players, of course) so even if you were a loser like me, someone would agree with you. For a moment I felt like I had a friend or something similar. But that moment never lasted very long. There were three bathroom stalls in the girl's locker room. All the lockers were on the left and right sides of the room leaving a big open area for us to change. The girls involved in sports changed into their gym clothes as though they were modeling or something. The rest of us self-consciously waited in line to use one of the stalls. I made a habit of keeping my sweater on. The gym teacher was a short, balding, red-faced man who also happened to be the school "athletic director" (whatever that meant- though I think its just a fancy title for permission to favor the jocks).

Every day after we changed we all had to run two laps. I was the slowest but I didn't care. "Orosco! Let's move it," he barked. He always called the "losers" by their last names like we weren't important enough to be remembered by our first names. For nearly two months he didn't say a word to me about my clothes. Then after laps he called me over. The whole room got silent and he didn't bother to lower his voice. "You're supposed to change. Why are you still wearing that sweater?" I couldn't find my voice to spout an excuse. "You don't need a sweater. Once you get your blood going you wont need it. Take it off." Wearily I pulled it over my head and tied the sleeves around my waist. The bandage on my right arm had a bloodstain coming through. A few people nearby that could see it began whispering. He didn't know what to say for a brief moment. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You'd better go to the nurse and have that checked out." Instead I escaped into the bathroom until class was over. The subject never came up again.

I managed to get a collection of sharp objects. The Home Economics teacher hardly ever noticed me. She never kept track of her red handled scissors or the number of pincushions in the room. Since I did all the dishes at home, I knew no one would notice if a couple of the fancy knives went missing. I emptied out an old jewelry box buried in a pile of junk to hide my precious items in. The wounds did help quite a bit. Slowly I was bleeding all of him out of me. It did nothing for the rage building up after _HE_ bruised my rib and nearly suffocated me with _HIS_ massive weight. '_I hate you_,' I thought as _HE_ slithered_ HIS_ way inside of me. '_I hate you_.'

The next few years passed in a steady blur. The only notable change was mama began favoring David. Whenever she left he went with her. Of course this angered _HIM_ to no end. My brother became caught up in a power struggle between his parents. I envied him though for mama would protect him at all costs but this is a selfish thought I shall keep to myself. The week mama left a plan of escape entered my mind. There was a bus stop at the edge of town not far from the gas station (which was a pretty long walk from my house). If I could get enough money for the fare I could get out of hell and back into the world. On days when _HE_ passed out I searched for _HIS_ wallet, grabbing whatever loose change happened to be in there. _HE_ would notice if wads of cash went missing. That would ruin the whole plan. It didn't take long to gather what was needed (plus extra).

The day came like a sympathy gift from God. Mama and David hadn't yet received the opportunity to escape. _HE_ wouldn't wake up. Immediately (with extreme calmness in her voice as though discussing dinner choices) mama instructed David to phone for an ambulance. When help arrived mama and David followed in the car. I threw a bag of clothes together (not forgetting the jewelry box) and took off as soon as they disappeared.

The streetlights were beginning to come on as the sun went down. The sky revealed its pink veins to the world. The cool air breezing past nipped my skin. I made it to the bus on time, handing over my money happily. A majority of the passengers were elderly. A window seat in the second row on the right called my name. I had neglected to look at the destination of the bus. But what did it matter? Anywhere was better than here.


	4. Chapter 4

The bus ride must've lasted no more than maybe an hour. Fewer passengers were on by the time I was awakened by the jerk of a sudden stop. We'd flown from hell and landed in the city. Something inside said, '_This is the place_'. We stopped at a big store (K-Mart or something) to let more people off. I finally got up the nerve to talk to the driver. "Excuse me," I said, my voice coming out mousey and forceful. "I need to get to a hotel but I don't know where it is. I don't have much money."

The little man smiled, saying, "Don't worry, Miss. I'll take you there. Just have a seat." He did just as he said he would. Traffic made the ride seem endless but he got me there. I made sure to thank him before stepping off. This part of the city could use some fixing up. But even with the cracked sidewalks and the graffiti covered buildings it was still more welcoming than my own home. Inside the woman behind the counter of the run-down _MOTEL_ gave me a hard time. Eventually we came to an agreement (resulting in the loss of some belongings). I was in a room at the end of the row. The windows were dusty, a musty smell hit me at the door, and the room apparently hadn't been occupied in a while. I wondered when they last cleaned it. I didn't have the right to complain though. This place was saving me.

The TV had a few channels- the news, an all-days sales channel (you know, the ones where they try to sell you "rare and beautiful jewelry worn by today's celebrities and only for a price of…"), and an old black-and-white movie channel. While the movie rolled on the small black box I tried to improve my plan. First thing I had to do was get a job- though I wasn't sure how and where. Then, once I got the money, I could buy an apartment- maybe get some friends. It would be wonderful- a world without _HIM_. Was such a thing possible? It seemed so.

Around ten at night I went back to the front desk. "Excuse me," I said to the woman behind the counter. She looked up from the book she was reading. "Do you know any good places around here I could get a job?"

She licked her finger, turned the page, and said, "Try getting a newspaper. There's some right here." She rapped her nails on the small stack. "You're a run away, aren't you?" Since no words would come out I only shook my head. "Yeah, sure. They all deny it at first but I've seen enough of them to tell. Try the thrift store outside of town."

"…Okay, thanks." I took a newspaper back to my room. There were no thrift stores listed in the ads and all the open jobs required skills I didn't have. I decided that in the morning I would use a phone book to find the place. The mattress was cold and stiff as well as the pillow when I lay down. Even with the warmth of body heat neither object softened.

The next morning I found the thrift store. _'Gina's Thrift Shop_' it was called. It happened to stand two stories tall, which seemed peculiar to me. What could be in a thrift store to make it so big? The door opened but no one appeared to be inside. Bells chimed to signal my entrance. "Just a sec!" a voice called from a door less room in back. The woman who pushed her way through the curtain had long black hair that skimmed her waistline. Her jean-jacket was open enough for her tube top to be seen and she had a jean skirt to match. She wasn't in any way surprised to see me as though she were expecting my arrival. "Here for a job?"

I stammered, "Uh, yes."

"Well come back here and I'll show you what you need to know. Are you staying at the motel?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I have somewhere you can stay until you get on your feet. My name's Trish. The shop is my mom's but I pretty much run it."

"Oh… I'm Angela." She showed me how to run the cash register (which was old enough to the point where you had to slam on the button to open it). Break was at twelve exactly.

"That's all you need to know for now. The morning is slow so you'll have an easy time catching on," she said. "After we close we'll go to the motel and pick up your stuff." I mumbled a '_thanks_' before she disappeared. Few customers came and went until closer to break time. Then things sped up. I was surprised at the variety of people that came in. I suppose I got the same image everyone gets in their heads when they think of a thrift store: A place with grubby clothes where single mothers with at least six kids on welfare goes. The shop itself had some nice clothes in it at a decent price. Sure some mothers came in but so did fathers, teens, elderly, and single people. I had things figured all wrong.

"Angie," Trish called. "It's noon. Let's close for a bit and get some lunch. I'm buying." We crawled into her small car and cruised around until she picked a place. I felt selfish that she was paying for me. I insisted on paying her back but she only laughed. "Don't be silly, its just lunch. Tell you what, if you _REALLY_ want to 'pay me back' then you can answer my questions." I followed her, holding the tray, to a booth seat in the back. "Okay, my first question… is your name really Angela?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Why?"

"Most of the people I run into give me fake names. I was just curious."

'_A fake name?_' I asked in my head. '_Guess I never thought of that…_'

"Next question," she went on. "Why did you run away? And if you feel like you absolutely can't talk about it then say so. You don't have to do something you're not comfortable with."

I really wanted to tell her. Something inside me said she could help. But there was always the possibility that she wouldn't understand. Or maybe she'd understand it perfectly well like mama did. I didn't want everyone I met up with to hate me. But I didn't completely lie when I said, "My family hates me." I just didn't mention it was because I was a bad person. She nodded with some kind of hidden knowledge gleaming in her eyes. Maybe she knew. "Why do you want to help _ME_?"

"Well when I was about sixteen my best friend ran away from home because she was tired of her parent beating her up. She came across some trouble though and some sick bastard took advantage of her situation." Trish paused a moment to take a sip of her drink. Her gaze wandered over to the window. "I always figured it I went with her she would still be here… I try to help others in hope of making up for it somehow." Silence fell down like a curtain between us. For this I was grateful for I feared what she would've asked me next.

_Gina's Thrift Shop _closed its doors for the night around five. Trish helped me gather my things from the motel. As it turned out the second story of the thrift happened to be where Trish lived. To get up there we went around the side of the building up a metal staircase. "Usually my mother would be here to greet us but she's out of town," Trish informed me as she flicked on the lights. The main hall branched into different rooms: bedrooms, the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and a small study. "You can stay in the extra room over here." The extra room was a bland white and gray and practically empty except for the bed (let's not forget the squeaky ceiling fan). But I had no reason to complain. It was better than the motel. "Feel free to decorate it if you wish. I leave that to whoever uses it. There's a bathroom across the hall and my room is on the left of it. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Is it okay if I take a shower?" I asked.

She laughed a bit, "Of course. Towels are under the sink."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Angie." Along with clean clothes I took the jewelry box into the bathroom. I turned the water cold enough that it bit my skin and turned it red. The marks from the killer of the abyss turned purple when exposed to the chill. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I put my undergarments back on. Hw disgusting and gangly- covered in freckles, stringy hair, and everything that attracts _HIM_. Too bad I wasn't born a boy. One of the black handled knives slipped easily from its place into my hands. Light gleamed from the blade making it all the more tempting. '_The first thing I would get rid of is this_,' I thought as I dragged the knife across my chest. It ate through the fabric of my bra and brought on the abyss. '_And then this_.' Flesh screamed at the taste of metal above one of its most sensitive regions (even for a boy it would stir up the same reaction). I didn't have to give it much effort. Merely slipping it across did the trick. Spots fell onto the tile. But this was not enough. There were still enough places on my arm to contribute.

After the wounds were properly taken care of I went to bed. A feeling of joyful exhaustion came over me. However the dreams that crept in were anything but joyful. _HIS_ face appeared with _HIS_ mouth twisting into a demonic grin, which said, '_You can't run from me, Annjulahh_.' _HE_ laughed as _HE _forced _HIS_ way in once again. I could've sworn it was real. Trish was right there holding me when my eyes opened. The room filled with my cries. She stayed even after I had calmed down. She understood the answers to all her questions.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" she asked in the morning. I nodded. "You think you'll be able to work today or do you need some time alone?"

"I'm fine," I said shaking my head.

"Okay if you're sure. If you need something, let me know."

Other than the dreams things went pretty well after that. Trish questioned me a little more now and then. I gave her what answers I could. She was very patient with me. During the time that passed it seemed freedom was around the corner. Trish burst through the doors one day back from her break. Nearly a month had passed since my arrival. "Angie," she said as she tried to catch her breath. The man being waited on finished paying for his items and hurriedly left. "Quickly! You need to hide. Here are the keys. Go upstairs to the house."

"What happened?" I responded worriedly.

"That man- Thomas- I _SAW HIM_." (She referred to _HIM_ by _HIS_ first name because she didn't feel _HE_ was worthy of _HIS_ proper parenting title). "He was at the gas station asking everyone if they'd seen you."

"But they don't know who I am."

"Angie, he had your picture with him. He knows you're in the city. Hurry now, go pack your things and wait for me. I have a plan. I think someone told him you were here. I'll try to lead him off. Then I'll help you escape. If it works I'll ring the phone twice. If not I'll ring it once and then you have to run. Take this." She put a wad of cash in my pocket.

"Trish-"

"Go. You can do this, Angie." I nodded and took the keys.

Upstairs I packed then hid with my things in the kitchen by the phone. Seconds dissolved into minutes. How in the world did _HE_ find me? How come _HE_ hadn't died from alcohol poisoning? Were mama and David with _HIM_? These questions circled around my head. But with each passing minute I regained hope. God had given me this chance. There's no way He would take it away right? The phone rang killing the silence. One ring. "Please, one more, please," I begged as tears threatened. "Please." It didn't come. I had to run. With my bag in hand I climbed back down the metal staircase. _HIS_ car was parked right in front of the building. I turned and fled. As I rounded the corner I heard _HIS_ voice call my name. _HE_ began to chase me. People on the sidewalk moved out of the way but made sure to take a moment to stare. My legs were getting weaker with each block. Just as I passed an apartment building something knocked into me from behind. Both of us fell flat onto the sidewalk. Automatically my hands protected my face from the smack of the cement. I thought my bones would surely break under the weight of _HIM_.

"Get up," _HE_ barked, taking a handful of my hair. _HE_ won again. God must've been on _HIS_ side the whole time. They probably got their kicks crashing my hopes down. I was going back to hell.

_HE_ threw my stuff on the living room floor when we arrived. The house was quiet. David came down to announce that mama had gone. He refused to say where. Before he could be punished for disobeying orders he took off to his room. The door slammed shut hard. _HE_ had a hold of my arm, twisting it behind my back. _HE_ pulled me up to _HI_ room where _HE_ locked up all the exits. And then the punishment came. The clothes I had on were taken. A look of disgust crossed _HIS_ face when _HE_ saw my scars. _HE_ was never sober enough to understand. From the closet _HE_ retrieved a nylon rope and proceeded to tie me up. For the first time since I was a child, tears fell in _HIS_ presence. Using a smaller portion, the rope was fed across my mouth almost like a gag. More tears came as _HE_ slithered _HIS_ way inside of me. I was filled once again with the abyss continuously or an agonizing period of time. After that I was left alone until the next morning.

I was finally released and allowed to go to my room. On the floor I found the bag with my jewelry box in it. All the contents were still safely inside, untouched by an intruder's hands. I slipped the largest black handled knife under my pillow. I tore some clothes out of my closet, put them on, and went downstairs.

David was gone- so was the car. He probably went after mama. The house was in a complete mess. Apparently without mama or me around no one even bothered to try cleaning anything. Dishes were piled up in the sink. Laundry lay in various rooms. The table was covered in all kinds of junk: papers, cups, bags of chips, some change, and beer cans. The dishes had to be taken care of first to make room for the cups in the dining room. Then I began to go through the garbage on the table. Most of it was junk mail to tell the truth.

But among the junk mail I found a brochure lying open. The words on it read: "Welcome to Silent Hill! Silent Hill, a quiet little lakeside resort town. We're happy to have you. Take some time out of your busy schedules and enjoy a nice vacation here. Row after row of quaint old houses, a gorgeous mountain landscape, and a lake which shows different sides of its beauty with the passing of the day, from sunrise to late afternoons to sunset. Silent Hill will move you and fill you with a feeling of deep peace. I hope your time here will be pleasant and your memories will last forever."

'_Silent Hill_?' I thought. '_Where is that_?' More than likely that was where mama headed off. In order to keep her safe from _HIM_ I hid the brochure with the knife. If I really wanted to see mama again, I'd have to make some kind of plan. _HE_ would have to be out of the picture.

_HE_ went through _HIS _routine without worrying about the two missing. Of course a majority of the time _HE_ was home _HE'D _been too intoxicated to sit down and think about it. I kept everything picked up (this way I could avoid punishments more often). I didn't go back to school and to my knowledge no one tried to find out why. That just made things easier. I started feeling like _HIS_ wife (almost as though mama never existed) and _HE_ treated me as such. It sickened me. Every day I made sure to reserve time for myself to drain out the abyss. An uncontrollable rage replaced it a little more as time passed.

One night _HE_ came home and went straight up to _HIS_ room where _HE_ lay in bed. I was in my own room looking through the brochure again, trying to picture this place that sounded so perfect. Every time I read through it I became lost in a daydream: mama and I moving into a nice little house the two of us have jobs and spend our weekends together. The brochure had pictures of a couple of the streets. One of the streets, Neely Street, had shops lining both sides of it. There was a pet shop, Lucky Jade Restraunt, Bar Neely's, Happy Burger, and Big Jay's (whatever that was). All of them had colorful, inviting signs. This Silent Hill had to be the definition of a perfect place. It was a daydream that could be fulfilled if the right steps were taken.

"Angela," _HIS_ voice crawled from _HIS _room. It was the middle of the night. What could _HE_ possibly want? I got up anyway taking the knife with me. The lights were off throughout the house. _HIS_ room was exceptionally dark because the curtains were drawn. _HE_ was lying in bed. "Annjjulaaah. Come here."

The point of the knife rubbed against the side of my leg. I could feel it poking my skin. I was nervous, as I said, "No." _HIS _body shifted in the dark so _HE _was sitting up. "I'm n-not listening to you anymore." Though I couldn't see _HIS_ face _HIS _cold gaze stabbed through the dark in my direction.

"Don't talk back to me. Get over here."

"No!" I stopped rubbing the knife against my leg. Instead I held it against the side of my thigh. "Y-you listen to me." Anger stirred in my stomach, up my throat and spilled out of my mouth in the form of words. "You can't make me do anything anymore! I'm not going to let you push me around! Y- you can't hurt me or humiliate me because I'm leaving! I'm going to stay with mama!"

_HE_ laughed, "You don't even know where she is. No one does."

"Yes I do. I'm not telling you where she is. You can stay here drowning yourself in alcohol and take your sick fantasies out on someone else!"

Now _HE _got up. "If you think you've been hurt before you have no idea. I'm going to-" _HE'D_ been coming at me with _HIS _hands raised so _HE_ could grab me. I panicked and stabbed forward with the knife. I knew it got _HIM_ when _HE_ cried out. Instinctively I pulled it back and aimed higher. That time a much different noise came out: a liquid gurgling sound. I just kept pushing it until _HE_ fell over. Then I realized _HE_ was dead. In a fit of rage I had killed _HIM_. I was free.

The air was still outside. Stars were glowing brightly in the black blanket of the sky. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk. With the brochure in hand I started walking. I followed the voice of that perfect place as it lead me to Silent Hill.


End file.
